


Jarl of Dawnstar

by PaganPixie



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6525349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaganPixie/pseuds/PaganPixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Jarl of Dawnstar hears that the Legion are preparing to attack, and what is worse, the Dragonborn is with them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jarl of Dawnstar

Atticus sat in his chair at the head of his hall, and gazed into the distance, lost in memory. It had been a long time since he had been on the battlefield, great sword in hand, bellowing as he swung it at his enemies. Men had fallen back before his rage, his furious red face and glaring eyes. He was most famous for bringing down a dragon that had been terrorizing the hold. He had slain the great creature with his two handed battle axe Smite. It had been that act that had made the then Jarl of Dawnstar to name him housecarl, and eventual successor to the Jarls seat.  
He had been a formidable figure, still was he supposed, though his stomach was larger than he would have liked, but his days of fighting were behind him. His great sword Justice hung on the wall above his head, reminding all who came to seek his counsel of the power he wielded, the power of life and death over those he ruled.  
As thanks for his work on the battlefield, the king had granted him the title of Jarl of Dawnstar, and had given him a hold of his own. It was a fine honor of course, and one he could not have turned down, but still he missed the days when a good sword was the way he had handled disputes. Now he had to sit and listen while men aired their grievances to him, and hand out justice with words, not weapons. Yes, Attitcus had much to be thankful for.  
But he was bored.  
His housecarl, Jarik, could tell. Jarik had been with him a long time, had fought with him on the battlefield, and knew his masters moods well. He knew when Attitcus' attention was not in the room, knew from his sighs how short his patience was becoming. There would not be many more petitions heard today.  
'One cow for each of you, and the chickens to be split equally,' he pronounced. The two men standing in front of him did not look best pleased with his decision, but they bowed and left the hall.  
Atticus suppressed a sigh of relief. Jarik turned to him. 'That was the last one for today sire.'  
'Thank the gods for that,' he grunted in reply. 'I swear Jarik, if one more farmer comes to me arguing about chickens, I will send them to the stocks and hang the consequences.'  
Jarik smiled. When they were alone the man did not stand on ceremony, for which Atticus was grateful. He would not have a man he had fought beside bowing and scraping for him. Besides, Jarik had too much backbone for that, and a good thing too.  
The hall was empty but for the two of them.  
It was too quiet. He had never gotten used to that. Aside from the old woman sweeping the floor with her broom there was not a sound. Lyra was out overseeing the fields, the children were grown and had houses and families of their own, and so for most of the time the hall was quiet. It seemed too large for just the three of them, but both Jarik and Lyra had pointed out that the Jarl of a hold should have a large, impressive hall. He remained unconvinced.  
He sighed and stood, stretching the kinks out of his shoulders and neck. Too long sitting in one position. He was getting old. There was gray in his beard he knew, although Lyra always denied it. He was the same with her. When he looked at her he saw the young woman of 16 whom he had married underneath the flowered arch in the temple of Mara.  
Leaving Jarik to fill out the paperwork from the mornings meetings he left the hall to take his usual morning stroll. He liked to walk among his people. A leader should know what was happening in his own lands he had always felt. And his people always knew that they could come to him with any problems. He did not stand on ceremony. He would not have any bowing or scraping in his hold. He knew some of the other Jarls did not agree with him on this, but how he ruled his hold was his business, and they stayed out of it.  
Dawnstar was bustling with activity. Men hurried to and from the armoury, carrying leather, pushing barrels of iron ore, and returning with armfuls of arrows, leather armour, and shields. The miners had been working double shifts to provide enough ore for the forges. There had been reports of Legion activity not too far away, and Atticus did not want to be caught unready. He had ordered the blacksmiths to work double shifts to produce enough weapons and armour for every fighting man and woman in the hold, and had put the Captain of the guards in charge of making sure the men were ready. He passed by the barracks and paused to listen to the man barking orders, and the sound of sword on sword, and the thunk of arrows into straw targets, then nodded happily and moved on. It would not do to walk in there and watch the training. It would give the impression that he did not trust the Captain to do his job, and that would never do. He did not wish to shame the man. Captain Joffrey was a very capable officer, young true, but a veteran of many battles against the legion. Atticus had raised him to the post of Captain over older men because of his experience fighting the Legion. There had been some trouble over that, but he had patiently pointed out that Joffreys knowledge of Legion tactics, and his excellent leadership skills made him the best and obvious candidate. They had agreed, grudgingly, but they had agreed.  
Next he made his way to the temple of Talos, that had been built in the centre of the town. A small round garden lay in front of it, before the steps that led up to his hall.  
This was the cause of the trouble with the legion. Talos, the nord god that the legion had declared must no longer be worshipped in Skyrim, to placate the elves they had made the agreement with. Talos, the god that the nords had worshipped for as long as there had been nords in Skyrim, which was for as long as there had been a Skyrim. The nords had not been a part of that arrangement, it had been done, as they saw it, behind their backs, and they had flatly refused to be a part of it. The legion tore down shrines to Talos wherever they found them, and burned temples. In response Atticus had announced that all who wished to worship Talos were welcome at the temple in Atticus. Jarik had shaken his head at that. 'You are inviting trouble with the Legion,' he had said.  
'Trouble will come whether I invite it or not,' he had replied. 'I will not let them bully my people Jarik. Who are they to say who we should or should not worship? What difference does it make to their lives? They can cower and bow to the elves all they like, but a nord bows to no-one!'  
And so there had been a steady stream of nords travelling to Dawnstar to visit the temple. The legion had grown wily. Dawnstar was too well defended for them to breach with anything less than an army, so they had staked out the roads to Dawnstar instead, hiding themselves in bushes and trees, attacking unsuspecting pilgrims. The rage Atticus had felt when the first reports came of the deaths of people coming to his hold had been great. He had sent warriors along the roads, disguised as humble pilgrims, and had slaughtered the surprised Legion men in return. He had sent their heads back to their leaders in the Legion camps, warning that if pilgrims continued to be attacked, he would avenge every last man twice over. The Legion had retreated from the roads, his patrols reported that much, but still not every pilgrim who set out for the temple made it. He could never prove the deaths were the legions doing, often it seemed the poor man or woman had suffered a fall from a cliff, or a rock slide had carried off their wagon and horses. He suspected the Dark Brotherhood. Those wily assassins were masters of making a death look like an accident. The laws were clear though. Unless he had absolute proof of legion involvement, he could not act against them. It made him grind his teeth but there it was. 

Captain Commander Marius peered through his eyeglass at Dawnstar. He could make out a lot of activity behind the walls, men hurrying to and fro, carrying bundles in their arms. Weapons no doubt.  
He turned to his chief mage, a dark yellow skinned Dunmer named Synth. 'How go the preparations?' he snapped. The dunmer and the other mages made him nervous, and the man standing so close behind him made his speak more sharply than he had intended.  
If Synth noticed his tone he did not show any sign of it. The mage always looked calm, irritatingly so. Aware of his own power, and the nervousness it caused it those without it, there was an air about the man that Marius would have called smugness in another man. 

It was evening when word reached Attitcus that a young man had come into the hold, wounded and in a bad way. He hurried to the healers house, where he found the man laid out on a bed, sweat slicked and groaning. Larissa, the healer, was preparing something in her pestle and mortar, and the sweet spicy smells coming from the hearth told him she had a kettle of herbal medicine on to boil. Jarik was there of course, but no-one else. Larissa was very strict about who was allowed in her sick room.  
'What happened?' he asked as he entered the room.  
'He was shot with a poisoned arrow,' Larissa replied calmly, examining her mixture.  
'Legion?' he asked, looking at Jarik. He nodded grimly. 'Looks that way. I recognise the arrowhead. It's definitely their style.'  
'Nine divines,' Atticus swore. Larissas eyebrow twitched but she said nothing.  
The man's eyes opened and he saw Atticus. His mouth opened. Atticus bent down to listen.  
'What is it man?'  
'Legion...ready to attack. Dragonborn...in their camp...' he coughed and his eyes closed again.  
Atticus thumped the bedside table hard enough to make the windows shiver. Larissa laid a hand on his arm.  
'Please Atticus. He needs rest. Whatever else he has to say can wait.'  
'He's said enough,' he grunted. 'Take care of him Larissa. He's a good man.'  
He met Jariks eyes and the two men left the house. 

'By all the gods,' Atticus swore once they were outside. 'The Dragonborn!.'  
'It was only a matter of time before he chose a side,' Jarik replied.  
Atticus swore again. The situation might be worse than he had feared.  
'Send for Angar.'


End file.
